Resting When There is Work to be Done

Jesus said to his disciples, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.”  For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat.

Every person here knows what it is like to be swamped at work, to be overwhelmed by the tasks at hand, and to have people coming at you from all directions.  At times like this you say to yourself, “I need a vacation” or “I need an assistant” or even better “I need a vacation and an assistant.”

This morning’s gospel reading comes in the midst of a very busy and hectic time.  Jesus has sent out his followers in groups of two to preach and teach and heal.  They fanned throughout the region and did some impressive work; so impressive that when they re-gather in the countryside, 5,000 people follow them there.  Jesus teaches all day.  And then, because the people have no food, he takes what is available – five loaves and two fish – and uses it to feed the multitude.  Do you remember how in the story the disciples distribute the food?  12 disciples, 5,000 people – that is 416 people per disciple.  Now, I have never worked as a waiter, but serving 416 people strikes me as being a monumental task.  Jesus says to his followers, “We need to go away.  It is time for us to rest.”

It is worth noting this invitation does not come once all the work has been completed.  People are still coming and going and the disciples are so busy feeding folks they themselves do not have time to eat.  When Jesus says lets go away for a while there is still plenty of work that needs to be done.  I once served a bishop who said the reason he scheduled a clergy conference in the fall at a time when church activities are ramping up and priests generally are really busy is because this is precisely the time when we most need to get away.  Resting when there is work to be done.

The 10 Commandments are recorded in the books of Exodus and Deuteronomy.  Each contains the command to remember the Sabbath and keep it holy, but the rationales differ.  The Exodus version is grounded in creation: six days God worked and on the seventh day God rested.  We humans who are created in God’s image are to follow this pattern in order to express who we are and to preserve what is holy about us.  The Deuteronomy mandate to honor the Sabbath is grounded in the experience of slavery in Egypt.  Forced for generations to make bricks day after day after day, God’s children became valued only for what they can do, not for who they are.  Sabbath rest is a tangible affirmation we are more than just machines; that there is more to life than constant productivity.  When observant Jews light two candles on Shabbat they do so to remember they are created in God’s image and they are free. 

Eugene Peterson, a now retired clergyman and author, once wrote about his Sabbath practice:

Monday is my Sabbath.  Nothing is scheduled for Mondays.  If there are emergences, I respond, but there are surprisingly few.  My wife joins me in observing the day.  We make a lunch, put it in a daypack, take our binoculars and drive anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour away, to a trailhead along a river or into the mountains.  Before we begin our hike my wife reads a psalm and prays.  After that prayer there is no more talking – we enter into a silence that will continue for the next two or three hours, until we stop for lunch.

We walk leisurely, emptying ourselves, opening ourselves to what is there: fern shapes, flower fragrance, birdsong, granite outcropping, oaks, and sycamores, rain, snow, sleet, wind.  We have clothes for all weather and so never cancel our Sabbath-keeping for reasons of weather…  When the sun or our stomachs tell us it is lunchtime, we break the silence with a prayer of blessing for the sandwiches and fruit, the river and the forest.  We are free to talk now, sharing bird sightings, thoughts, observations, ideas – however much or little we are inclined.  We return home in the middle or late afternoon, putter, do odd jobs, read.  After supper I usually write family letters.  That’s it.  No Sinai thunder.  No Damascus road illuminations.  No Patmos visions.  A day set apart for solitude and silence.  Not-doing.  Being-there.  The sanctification of time.

How does this sound to you?  Perhaps the specifics are not for you – the walking, the silence, the weekly repetition – but don’t you think you would feel a lot more human if you found your own nourishing way to keep the Sabbath?  I know I would.  A famous opera singer once noted half of Beethoven’s music is silence.  It is the empty spaces between the notes that distinguish music from noise.  What do you do to create empty space in your life?  

In her book An Altar in the World, Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest and author, said much the same thing as Peterson:

At least one day in every seven, pull off the road and park the car in the garage.  Close the door to the toolshed and turn off the computer.  Stay home, not because you are sick but because you are well.  Talk someone you love into being well with you.  Take a nap, a walk, and hour for lunch.  Test the premise that you are worth more than you can produce – that even if you spent one whole day of being good for nothing you would still be precious in God’s sight.  And when you get anxious because you are convinced that this is not so – remember that your own conviction is not required.  This is a commandment.  Your worth has already been established, even when you are not working.  The purpose of the commandment is to woo you to the same truth.

She quotes Meister Eckhard who said, “God is not found in the soul by adding anything but by subtracting.”  What do you need to subtract from this day in order to allow it to work on you?

I think it is telling Jesus has to call his disciples to follow him to a place of rest.  The harder a person pushes himself or herself the more alienated he or she becomes to needs of his or her own body and soul.  While the command to honor the Sabbath is in the same list as ‘Thou shalt not kill’, we hardly treat it as seriously.  But it is every bit as important because without a regular pattern of rest and restoration we engage in killing ourselves.   In a very real sense, the Sabbath is not a commandment, but holy gift.  Jesus offers you this gift with the invitation to step away for a while and rest.  Will you accept?

The Lord of the Dance

I first learned to dance in an etiquette class in 6^th Grade.  We learned the Box Step (1-2-3-4).  We were instructed where to place our hands and where not to place our hands, as well as how close but no closer we could be to our partner.  Every year our Youth Group had a square dance.  Here I learned how to allemande left with the lady on my left and the Virginia Reel.   This is the end of my formal dance training.  I can do the YMCA (who can’t?), but not the Macarena.  Every now, if I have some music on, I cut loose in my kitchen while making dinner, but at moments like this I am grateful I live alone. 

My aunt and uncle’s Saturday schedule revolved precisely around watching The Lawrence Welk Show.  They commented constantly and critically on the dancers and their outfits.  It is hard fathom how at the same time our culture produced Elvis Presley and his gyrating hips.  I think back over movies and moments that transformed dancing in my lifetime: Saturday Night Fever, Grease, Flashdance, Dirty Dancing, Michael Jackson’s Moon Walk, and Left Shark at the Super Bowl.  Today, Dancing with the Stars is a cultural phenomena with millions of passionate followers.

After I moved into town my first introduction to Suffolk life was the 2007 Shrimpfest.  Terry and Irma Mottley were there and at one point with the music playing they broke into a shag.  I can still picture it in my mind.  They seemed so free and connected and graceful at ease with one another and in love.  It reminded me of something a seminary professor once told me.  She teaches pastoral theology and from time to time does marital counseling.  She advises couples in distress to sign up for dance lessons.  In her experience, if they are not willing to engage in this intimate and vulnerable activity there is little chance counseling sessions will save their marriage.

Dancing has been around for a long time.  Social theorists believe well before we honed our verbal skills early human beings used dancing as a method of communicating with one another.  The earliest record of dancing is found in a cave painting in India.  Dating back 9,000 years, it depicts a celebration after a successful hunt.  Dancing seems to be an important element in every religious tradition in our world.  Some Episcopal churches incorporate what is known as liturgical dancing in their services, but, as a friend of mine once opined, “When it comes to liturgical dancing, less really is more.”

In today’s first reading we find King David dancing before the Lord “with all his might”.  He and the people are celebrating the return of the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem after it had been lost in battle to the Philistines.  Most likely his dancing is not akin to the highly choreographed dancing of Viennese Waltz, but a spontaneous, free-form, energetic expression of passion and joy.  It is what basketball players do when they nail a game winning shot at the buzzer and baseball players do when they hit a walk off homerun and soccer fans do when their team wins the World Cup.  Jumping up and down and screaming at the top of your lungs may not seem like much of a dance, but it does combine movement and celebration.  Outside of perhaps the Pentecostal church tradition, we people of faith in the Christian west do not dance like this in religious settings and ceremonies.  If I broke loose with leaping, shouting, and dancing in today’s service, you all would give me the same look David’s wife gave him and call the bishop. 

Years ago I attended a service at a Charismatic Episcopal Church where we were directed to stand, raise our hands to the Lord, and sing “with all our might”.  Those of us who did not raise our hands were chastised for being “stumps”, not “trees” – raised arms being the limbs.  Then and there I discovered I do not come to worship to be drawn out of myself – to be released from constrictions so I can let it all out in an emotional outpouring – but rather I seek a kind of worship that draws me inward to a place where I can hear the still, small voice of God’s Spirit speaking to my deepest concerns, sorrows, hopes, and joys.  I don’t despise the David’s in this world who let go when they worship God, but it is not me and it is not what I need from this experience.

Today’s gospel reading describes a different kind of dancing.  This one is not religious in nature, but rather erotic.  By all accounts, King Herod is a foolish and brutal ruler.  What sort of father asks his teenage daughter to dance provocatively for him and his male guests?  His taxation policy squeezes the life out of the Galilean region in order to build his palaces and support his sumptuous lifestyle.  His powers are many and broad and he wields them arbitrarily for his own benefit to the detriment of others. 

Herod’s daughter Herodias appears to have only one source of power – her sexuality.  Like most young women, she realizes she has the ability to manipulate men with her beauty and her body well before she discovers what she wants to do with her power.  As such, she is in a vulnerable position.  She has the ability to hurt others and most likely she will be hurt multiple times in her life by using this power.

I dated a young woman in college who told me her secret to getting an A in an economics class of over 100 students.  The professor knew none of us by name and surely never took the time to read our papers word for word.  Our final grades seemed arbitrary at best.  This young woman figured out how to break through.  First, she always dressed up and wore a skirt to class.  Next, she sat in the front row and paid attention.  She intended to catch the professor’s eye, but he still didn’t know her name.  One day, after class, she approached him to ask for the name of a book and author he referenced during the lecture.  Then, at the final, she wrote on the top corner of her paper a note in red ink: “Thank you for directing me to the author and name of the book.”  Because she connected her paper with her face she got an A and deserved it.  The professor was unwilling to do the actual work of reading papers and assigning grades based on merit so he opened himself to being played, although nowhere near as badly as Herod.

This week I asked a few women about their experience of using the power of their sexuality.  I learned it can be effective, but also is fraught with peril.  Our society is not much help.  Either we encourage women to flaunt their power to the fullest, or we attempt to shame and suppress it - think about the churches that ban dancing and the religious traditions requiring women to cover their bodies.  The example of the mother seems to play a key role in shaping the practices of the daughter – how to dress and how not to, how to act and how not to.  More than anything else, if a woman’s only power is her ability to use her looks and her sexuality to get what she wants from men, she is opening herself to a lifetime of pain. 

History does not record any other details of Herodias’ life, just this dance and the role it plays in a gruesome and unnecessary execution.  Sadly for her, it is an auspicious beginning to her formative years and it strains the imagination to conceive who might have guided her from viewing herself as being only a seductive object in the eyes of men to an authentic human being deeply and dearly loved by God our Creator.

When she was five, we enrolled our daughter Abbey in a dance class at her daycare.  Like all such things, there came the day for a recital, with its obligatory stopping of the world for every relative in the same time zone to attend… and videotape.  Most of the routines were cute, uncomplicated, and somewhat mechanical.  At one point the instructor told us it was time for a freeform dance where the girls move to music in anyway they desire.  At this point, in my eyes at least, the most amazing thing happened.  It was as if Abbey connected to some deep inner place allowing her soul and her body’s sinews to interact with the holy and mysterious rhythms of life.  She appeared free of conscious restriction as she flowed and drifted with the music; no longer concerned about the steps and stops of the previous dances, just her body and soul’s relationship with the music.  It was incredibly beautiful, deeply spiritual, and a moment I will cherish forever.  It is for me a witness to what all life can and should be.    

Jesus never actually said “I am the Lord of the Dance,” but I bet he wished he had.  Life definitely is a dance.  Sometimes it looks like the awkwardness of a 6^th grader’s box step.  Other times, such as when we pass the peace, it feels like the joyful interaction of the Virginia Reel.  There are moments of spontaneous joy and celebration.  And there are times of rare, fleeting, and precious sacred connection and expression. 

Dance, then, wherever you may be,

for I am the Lord of the Dance said he.

Is it Time to Cut your Losses and Move on?

My old high school building is no more.  The city of Akron tore it down several years ago and rebuilt it.  A group of us got to take a tour of the new facilities the day before our class reunion.  The main entrance is a three-story atrium and contains an alumni Hall of Fame – about a dozen or so graduates who went on to do notable things, such as becoming rock stars, Olympic champions, an astronaut, a TV star, a Blue Angel pilot, a concert pianist, and a world renowned expert in microbiology.  Generally speaking, we Americans are proud of our local kids who make good.  If you drive into most any small town in our country, chances are good you will see a sign reading something like, “Welcome to Walton, the childhood home of the inventor of the Slinky.”     

Today’s reading makes it abundantly clear there will be no sign reading, “Welcome to Nazareth, the hometown of Jesus the Messiah.”  The people who watch Jesus grow up have heard about his recent exploits in other parts of the region and are not impressed.  When he teaches in his hometown synagogue those who hear him are “astounded” and take “offense.”  “Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary?” – because it does not mention the name of his father, this question indicates the locals believe Jesus to be illegitimate.  That they refer to him as “the carpenter” suggests they want him to remember his role and station in life.  Apparently the Senior Class did not vote him Most Likely to become the Savior of the World.

As a result, the person who has been so effective in his teaching and healing in other places is rendered largely ineffectual in the town where he grows up.  Jesus is stunned in the face of their unbelief.  It has to be one of the real low points in Jesus’ ministry.  And it reminds us how there is a dynamic relationship between the setting and a person’s ability to function at a high level.

Think about the pitcher who wins twenty games, signs a huge contract with another team, and then can barely keep a .500 record.  Or think about the actress who stars in a blockbuster movie with one director only to bomb in another with a different one.  I have known countless clergy who struggle in one parish and then move on to another where their ministry thrives.  Productivity and the lack there of is tied to setting.  Even Jesus cannot rise above the unbelief of those around him.

But here is what he can do and here is what he does:  he moves on.  He has too much respect for himself and what he is doing to accept the way he is being treated.   He determines his mission is too critical, too important, and too necessary to waste even one single second in a place not open to it or to him.  So, as I say, he moves on. 

It is easy to say, but usually not easy to do.  Economists talk about something called “sunk costs” and how they play an important psychological role in our aversion to letting go of something no longer working, be it a business project, a relationship, or an endeavor in the community.  Sunk costs include the time and energy and emotional resources you have invested in the thing you are struggling to let go of.  They are what you have given that will be lost if you walk away.  

Jesus has thirty years invested in his relationships with his hometown people.  That is a lot of sunken cost.  Still, he knows enough to know when he has had enough.  He knows enough to know there is no point investing another word or action in Nazareth.  He knows enough to know opportunities abound elsewhere, new life awaits, and a greater purpose is on the horizon.

In fact, the possibilities are so great Jesus cannot possibly tend to them alone.  He sends out his followers with instructions to travel light, to invest themselves in those who welcome them and their mission, and to move on quickly when they are not wanted.

If you Google the question “when it is time to cut your losses and move on” you will be led to manifold websites telling you the 5, 7, 9, or 12 signs it is time to move on from a project, a job, a friendship, or a marriage.  Here is a sampling:

When your priorities change and you need to shift your focus on other things, QUIT.

When it no longer brings you happiness, why prolong the agony?  QUIT.

When your current job doesn’t offer you any more growth opportunities and you dread every minute of it, QUIT.

When you are dirt poor because you’ve invested all of your life savings and [are] deep in debt trying to bring your business back to life, QUIT.

When you think you’ve reached the dead-end of your relationship, QUIT.

When you believe you have done everything humanly possible and have exhausted all of your efforts in trying to make something work, QUIT.

I like how these statements recognize and affirm there comes a time when it is time to move on.  Still, the formula for making this determination is far from straightforward.  In fact, often times it is agonizing.  We have been raised in a culture telling us winners never quit and quitters never win.  As John Rector pointed out to me, the reason the cleaning product is called Formula 409 is because the first 408 formulas didn’t work.  We have been raised in a faith tradition promoting the ideal of “until death do us part.”  We people of faith sense a moral imperative to love unconditionally and infinitely, as we hope and pray God loves us.  As a result, most of us – if we are healthy and stable people – are not wired to quit, to walk away, and to move on.

Here is a question to ponder:  What in life is giving you energy and what in life is draining you?  Perhaps you will recognize some of the most draining things once were sources of great energy, but everything runs its course.  If Jesus asked himself this question, his answer might be “I am energized by going from town to town preaching and teaching about the Kingdom of God and I am drained when I go back to my hometown and experience their unbelief.”  What is giving you energy?  What is draining you?  When something does nothing but drain you, perhaps this is a clear sign you need to engage some real discernment.  

In talking with several of you about cutting your losses I have come to learn we have all been there, we have all found the discernment process to be extremely difficult, and self-doubt still can linger even as new life emerges.  I wonder how many times after today’s reading Jesus contemplates going back to Nazareth and giving it another go.

The decision to cut your losses and move on should never be made in isolation.  It is not a brash, knee-jerk reaction to resistance or something you don’t like, but a fundamental question of your personal value, self-respect, and your sense of calling and purpose.  If you are going to move on from all the resources you have sunk into something, you want to do it prayerfully and thoughtfully.  You had better have a good reason for why you are letting go and at least a passionate hope for what might be ahead.  

You will need the thoughts and feedback of someone who is close, wise, and trustworthy – a spouse, a friend, a colleague, a therapist, a spiritual advisor.  You will need a person who can affirm the difficulty of the moment, and can reassure you of your competence, your goodness, your dignity and worth, and God’s promise of a better day to come.  You need a person who can say, “It is OK to shake off the dust on your shoes.  God will give you what you need and I will walk with you to the place where your will be welcomed, embraced, and affirmed.”

Here is my final thought: Life is not for sissies.  For most of us it is a challenge much of the time.  The good news is twofold.  First, God is with us.  What more can we ask for?  Second, God seems to delight in working through those near to us.  We are here for one another and together we will make it.

Light a Candle

Last Sunday a colleague of mine served as a guest preacher at an Episcopal church in another state.  Like many pastors in recent weeks, her sermon addressed our current immigration situation.  She posted it on-line and I read it.  It was thoughtful and articulate.  She built on the scriptures for the day and the theology of our baptismal covenant.  She was respectful of those holding a different opinion.  She invited parishioners into a place of reflection and conversation.  Still, two people walked out of church during the sermon and two other people waited until after the service to “lambaste” her before storming out in a huff.  The experience left my colleague shaken, anxious, and fearful.  I have other colleagues who have been criticized from the opposite direction by people who believe they have not preached strongly enough about objectionable things happening in our country.

Increasingly, preaching, like many other forms of communication, is becoming caught up in the growing incivility of our national discourse.  Our minds are made up, our positions solidified, and our defenses are on heightened alert to reject anything not in accord with what we believe.  Given this, what is a preacher to do?  Well, in an article this week, one minister suggested we clergy should preach the Gospel.  Now there, I thought, is a novel idea.  How much trouble can one get into if he or she sticks to the Gospel?  Well, Jesus was executed for it and all but one of his Apostles were martyred for their faith.  Still, I am willing to give it a try.

In today’s Old Testament reading, God states a decided preference for the most poor and vulnerable people in society – widows (at that time a group with absolutely no status or rights), orphans, and strangers.  “You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”  The New Testament reading describes how directs God Abraham to pack up his family and belongings in order to move from a land where they are threatened to a place where they will be safe and can prosper.  Jesus ratchets up the Gospel imperative to a level almost unimaginable: “You must love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you.” 

The readings challenge us to acknowledge the humanity of the person who is other and the person who is against us.  It is easy, Jesus says, to find humanity in the person who looks like you and talks like you and thinks like you.  If you want to be my follower than you must find the humanity in the person who does not look, talk, or think like you. 

And if you manage to see the other as human, what then do you do with this?  What should our actions look like?  Here is one suggestion with deep roots in the Christian tradition: while we fail to recognize him at first, most often we meet Jesus in the person who is other.  Offer to the other what you would offer to Christ.  So, for example, if you own a Colorado bakery and a gay couple asks you to bake a cake for their wedding, bake them the kind of cake you would give to Jesus himself.  And if, for example, you own a Lexington restaurant and an administrative staffer sits down at a table, make her the most delicious meal you can and offer to her and her companions the best service ever, just as you would do if you were preparing a dinner for Christ. 

It is time for us in America to stop pushing each other away and pull closer together, to talk about our differences in a way that is articulate, civil, and respectful, not hateful, accusatory, and divisive.  We need this from our elected officials, people in the media, and from ourselves. 

I have had several very interesting Facebook threads discussing some of the current issues facing our country.  I try to be honest about what I don’t know (immigration law and statistics about crime) while lifting up what I do know – a moral and spiritual perspective.  I am learning a lot and I think what I have contributed has caused some people to think in slightly new ways.  There are disagreements, but no one has been disagreeable. 

At the end of the day, I will have only one vote to cast in a general election, so I don’t believe I alone have the power to change the world.  Still, I believe my opinion matters and I believe how I express my opinion matters even more.  How I express my opinion contributes to who we are as a people and influences – for good or for ill – who we are becoming.  Benjamin Franklin famously said, “Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain and most fools do.”  I say in times like these, it takes someone really special to contribute to the common good.  Jesus suggests you can tell who a person is and whose a person is by how that person treats those of whom they differ most.

Are you familiar with an organization known as The Christophers?  Father James Keller founded it in 1945 to counteract a deep-rooted American suspicion the Roman Catholic Church wanted to take over our country.  The name ‘Christopher’ means Christ bearer and the members of this group commit themselves to bring our Lord and Savior to a people prejudiced against them.  Although it is born in the Roman tradition, it advocates for religious tolerance and respect.  It continues on in our own time, guided by its founding motto: “It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.”  Members of The Christophers are encouraged to commit simple acts of kindness and goodness each and every day in order to bring the light of Christ into a dark world.

If ever there was a Gospel message for our time it is this: It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.  In truth, each one of us is going to have to light a lot of candles.  Everywhere we go, with every encounter we have, and especially as we meet ‘the other’, we are going to have to light a candle.  It will be a candle of civility and respect and regard for the dignity of every human being.  It will be a candle created in the theology shop of our Presiding Bishop, who is fond of saying, “If it isn’t about love, it isn’t about God.”

Debbie Askew shared with me a Facebook post she had seen and I want to read it for you.

[We went to] a New Mexican restaurant in Suffolk called El Korita.  It is at 200 E. Washington St.  We got there about 12:30 and it was busy.  It is a tiny little restaurant.  Family run, painted bright and clean. 

We were seated right away, one waitress running from table to table, super friendly.  We were brought chips and drinks right away.

I immediately notice what looks like a homeless older lady.  She is pushing a buggy with lots of belongings, she is not well kept, wearing a shirt for a skirt.  She is sitting at a corner table.  She gets up several times, goes to the counter and back.  I pointed her out to Meg and we waited to see what was going on.  Very quickly in the midst of this busy lunch rush, the owner hands her a plate of food.  She goes back to the table and sits down and eats.  When the waitress, who is the daughter of the owner comes over to take our order, we tell her that we will cover her lunch.  She just (literally) joyfully says... we have it!  She is here every day and we feed her.  We know what it is to be hungry, so we make sure she isn’t.

When that lady was finished with her meal, she picked up her plate, took it back to the counter.  The owner came from the back in the kitchen, met her, had a conversation with her and walked with her to the door.  He gently put his hand on her back, opened the door for her and then went back to working. 

When we went up to pay I was talking to his daughter and she thanked me again for wanting to cover her lunch.  She told me that everyone that worked there saved their change and put it aside to cover anyone that came in that was hungry.  She said they do not judge and will feed them.  Meg and I paid our bill and gave them money to put in for that too.

I tell this story for several reasons.  The most important is that this family is showing LOVE with no judgment.  Salt and Light. 
A brand new restaurant that was crazy busy and he could have taken the time to talk to the people that were there in suits and ties and little kids, but he was genuinely loving and caring on her.

It costs NOTHING to love and not judge.  Be salt and light!
OH!  The food was great too!!!!  Go eat there and maybe leave a little extra for their “mission.”

This is the kind of community I want to live it.  This is the kind of community I want to help create.  This is the kind of thing that happens more often and in more different ways than most of us could ever imagine.  These are the kinds of stories we need to share… the stories about people who light a candle rather than curse the darkness.   

I can’t change the world and, like many of my colleagues, I struggle with how to preach about the world today.  But here is one thing I can do and no one can stop me: I can light a candle… and then another… and then another.  The darkness is dark, but the light of Jesus – should you and I choose to manifest it in our lives – will overcome the darkness.  

Does God Care?

I finished reading Nathaniel Philbrick’s book Sea of Glory, which chronicles the story of the United States Exploring Expedition, consisting of a squadron of ships that circumnavigated the globe from 1838-1842.  Among its other achievements, the Ex. Ex. is credited with discovering the continent of Antarctica and mapping more the 1,500 miles of its coastline.  Most of this work was done under extremely difficult and dangerous conditions, including gale force winds and ever-shifting packs of ice.  I come away from the book impressed with the courage and skill these sailors brought to the sea.  Here is one passage to give you a flavor of what they experienced:

Dense fog made navigating the icy barrier a particularly hazardous endeavor.  Instead of their eyes, the lookouts depended on their ears.  When they heard “the low and distant rumbling of ice,” they knew it was time to tack.  Then there were the times when the usual sounds of a ship at sea – the rhythmic slap of the waves and the comforting creak of the rigging (which always seemed magnified in the fog) – suddenly ceased as the [ship] glided into the eerily quiet lee of an unseen iceberg.”  “[T]he transition was so sudden… that many were awakened from sound sleep…  [It is] an occurrence from which the feeling of great danger is inseparable.”  

One of the squadron’s vessels, the Peacock, become so hopelessly ensnarled in the flows of ice its rudder was snapped off.  Unable to steer the ship, the captain and crew labored for hours and hours to direct its movements with a series of complicated, rapid, and demanding raising and lowering of sails.  Attempt after attempt to break free to open water failed and the ship’s haul was in danger of being crushed.  Finally, after more than 24 hours of life and death struggle, the ship broke through and the crew had to sail the battered Peacock more than 1,000 miles to New Zealand for repairs.

I share these stories because they describe the hazards of being on the water, something we encounter in today’s reading from Mark’s gospel.  While not nearly as long as the Chesapeake Bay, the Sea of Galilee is nearly as wide.  It is notorious for its sudden and dramatic change in conditions and because it is relatively shallow, strong winds can create formidable waves on it.  

Pairing Mark’s account with Sea of Glory, here is what I sense is happening.  The fishermen in the group are accustom to the conditions and are working hard at the sails and oars.  The land-lovers in the group are terrified.  Most likely they have been ordered to bale water filling the haul at an alarming rate.  Jesus, having exhausted himself with “the crowd” they left behind, is in the midst of what my colleagues and I refer to as a “clergy coma.”  Many of us collapse on Sunday afternoons and do not come close to recovery until after a good, long nap.  Have you ever awakened from a nap completely disoriented; not knowing who you are, where you are, what day it is, or what time it is?  I think this is what happens to Jesus.  He awakes startled and acts before he comes to his senses.  The results are dramatic, to say the least.

It is not clear who wakes Jesus and says, “Do you not care that we are perishing?”  My guess it is the sailing novices, because the fishermen on board would not give up the struggle so easily and admit defeat.  And it is not entirely clear if the question indicates they believe they are doomed, or if they are urging Jesus to lend a hand with the baling efforts.  Either way, there is something universal in what they ask, “Lord, do you not care that we are perishing?”, Jesus’ command, “Peace.  Be Still”, and his response, “Why are you afraid?  Have you still no faith?”

“Do you not care that we are perishing?”  What a profound question!  It has been asked about God down through the ages.  My suspicion is most of us here this morning have asked it in some form or fashion at some point in life.  God, do you care about what is happening to me?  God, do you care about what is happening to us?

I ponder often how the Creator of all reality can possibly care about me, let alone even be aware of me.  I can barely manage to keep track of my own extended family.  I spent two days of my vacation driving to cemeteries in rural Pennsylvania in order to find the tombstones of direct, but distant ancestors.  (I know, many of you must be wondering why I am not willing to charter a bus and make these amazing adventures a parish outing for all!).  I had to carry genealogy charts with me in order to keep straight even a handful of people and still felt confused.  If I can’t do it, I struggle to understand how God does.  

But, my experience matches that of so many of you, and countless throngs of the faithful down through the centuries.  While I can’t explain how it is, I know – I just know – God cares about me.  They only way I make sense of it is to believe the Holy One is something so completely other that human limitations simply do not apply, while at the same time is something so close to us as to be known and knowable.  

This morning’s first reading is one of the best known from the Old Testament – the story of David and Goliath.  We learned it as children, but could spend all our summer sermons pondering what it says to us as adults.  I come away from it this morning with two clear reflections.  First, David trusts how his experiences in the past translate well to the challenges of his present.  He believes in himself.  And second, he believes God cares about him and about his people.  Absent either of these, I doubt he would have stepped forward to slay the Philistine giant.  

Does God care about us?  Think about those times when you have asked this question with every fiber of your being.  Most often the winds and the waves threatening to take you under abated only as God worked through another person or people to restore the peace and calm you needed in your life.  Does God care about us?  On our better days, we step forward to provide the flesh and bones of the answer by challenging the Goliaths of our times in order to bring peace and calm to the life of another.

When I was in Ohio I met with Jon, my friend from childhood.  Along with his wife, we were driving to have dinner at another friend’s house when Jon’s cellphone rang.  His elderly neighbor was in the midst of a family crisis raising concerns about his safety and wellbeing.  Jon was not going to be at peace until he knew his neighbor was OK.  We turned the car around and drove back to Jon’s house where his wife volunteered to give up her Friday night and this social engagement in order to care for their neighbor.  Does God care?  Yes, and I know this because Jon and his wife care.

I do not have an ax to grind with the First Lady.  Still, her fashion decision regarding what to wear while visiting immigrant children separated from their parents invites a moral, Godly, Christian response.  “I don’t care.  Do you?”  Yes!  I do care.  No, to the critics who say “these are not our kids.”  All children are our children.  “Lord, don’t you care about these innocents and what they are experiencing?  “Yes,” God says, “Yes I care with all my Being.  You need to show the world how much I care.  What you do will bring peace and calm.  I will see to it.  What you do will speak of your faith.  I will channel my care and compassion through you.”

Does God care?  How do you know?  Does God care?  How do you show it? 

A Labortary for Relationships

I initiated something with my twenty fellow pilgrims after we returned from Scotland.  I made up a list of the Top10 things never said as we walked the Way of St. Cuthbert.  Things like, “What do you mean we don’t get to walk up that step hill!”  Others quickly responded, adding their own statements to the list.  One of the slower walkers offered this: “I must be the first person here.”  I won’t read the list to you because, as they say, you had to be there to get it.

About half of our group also walked the English Way of the Camino in Spain in 2016.  Of them, half are clergy who I see a couple of times each year at diocesan meetings and functions.  It is always a reunion of sorts when we are together, punctuated by joyous hugs and good-natured ribbing about something funny that happened on the trip.  It is fascinating to me how ten days and 60 miles of walking can forge a group of people into a community.

Last Sunday I talked about negotiating two realities in our lives.  First, we are lovingly created by God to be a one of a kind masterpiece.  And second, we are a communal people who live in complex relationships with others.  We are created in the image of God and just as God does not exist as an isolated singular, but rather is revealed in the Holy Trinity as existing in relational harmony, so too we have been designed to be connected to other people.

In today’s gospel reading we get a sense of just how complicated this can be.  Scholars attack Jesus saying he is in league with the devil and his own family states publicly they fear he has lost his mind.  The first accusation must have been infuriating; the second must have been devastating.  

In developing his hierarchy of human needs, the psychologist Abraham Maslow held that after addressing our physical need for things like food and water and after making provisions for our personal safety and well-being, our greatest need is to secure a sense of belonging; social connectedness.  Typically we make these connections through friendships, co-workers, and family. 

These relationships are not luxuries.  They are a human need.  If you deny the body oxygen – a physical need – it will surely die.  If you deny a human being of vital relationships, it will have an intensely detrimental effect on a person’s well-being.  Given all of this, it is no exaggeration to say Jesus is facing a very real personal crisis in his life in today’s reading.  

In her book Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone, the social scientist Brené Brown states “The greatest barrier to belonging is fitting in.”  Certainly this seems counter-intuitive because we grow up believing fitting in to get along is essential if we are going to be accepted and incorporated into a group, be it friends, coworkers, or family.  But through her research Brown discovered the people with the deepest sense of belonging have the ability to stand alone when necessary.  They will risk disconnection in order to maintain their own authenticity and integrity.  Last Sunday I named this as personal authority.

Brown notes, “We are more sorted than we have ever been in the history of our county.  We have built ideological bunkers.  We are more likely now to live with, worship with, and go to school with people who are politically and ideologically likeminded.”  Rather than fostering a sense of belonging, Brown notes this sorting has not resulted in deeper connections, but rather in what she calls “Common Enemy Intimacy” – being joined together only because you hate the same people.  And just as some said Jesus did the work of the devil or that he had lost his mind, today’s language about the other is largely dehumanizing.  The less human we think of a person or a group the more inhumane we are likely to treat them.  Brown says as a society we are being driven away from one another by fear.

Fear is a subtext in today’s gospel reading.  The Jerusalem scribes are afraid of Jesus even though it is very early on in his public ministry and all he has done is heal a few people, defy certain societal conventions, created a buzz, and attracted a few followers.  No doubt Mary and her children – Jesus’ brothers and sisters – are afraid of the attention he is drawing and for good reason suspect it will not serve well either him or them.  Fear ratchets up the drive to disconnect.  Think about Maslow – personal security comes before social belonging.

I suspect there is not one of us here this morning who is not experiencing some kind of social disconnectedness in life; some kind of estrangement from a person or group where once there was, or should be, a relationship.  Somewhere in this brokenness I guarantee you is a fear.  It may be complicated and disguised or obvious and open, but fear is a tremendous threat to relationship.

In my first years of ordained ministry I worked for the most dysfunctional person I had known up to that point in my young life and I was completely unprepared to negotiate this relationship.  I sought the counsel of a priest I trusted who suggested I refocus the emphasis on my ministry to serving the rector while I quietly looked for employment elsewhere.  It was a brilliant suggestion, but at the time I said I was afraid if I devoted myself to what my boss needed from me I would be swallowed whole and disappear.  Well, lets just say our ‘relationship’ did not end well and leave it at that.  But, as time has gone by, I don’t blame him or focus on his dysfunction.  I think about how inexperienced I was and how fear disabled me and limited severely the range of my possible responses.

Well, back to Jesus and today’s reading.  He dismisses the criticism of his ‘peers’ by noting the obvious: if he is creating health and well-being in those who are suffering he can hardly be in cahoots with the author of misery and pain.  More difficult to dismiss is the criticism of his family.  But Jesus has experienced in much greater intensity what I experienced with my fellow pilgrims and you have found to be true through manifold relationships in your life.  Our social connectedness – our sense of belonging – manifests itself in a variety of ways.  

Perhaps the deepest, most enduring level is spiritual.  Jesus found his connectedness neither through genetics or professional associations, but through shared, deeply held beliefs and experiences.  “Whoever does the will of God is my mother, my father, my brother, my sister.”  

Why are we at St. Paul’s bound together in social connectedness?  It is not because we share the same history.  Some of us have pedigree in Suffolk going back generations while others have not yet been here a calendar year.  We do not see eye to eye on politics.  We do not gather arm-in-arm singing Kumbaya every time the Episcopal Church makes a statement about our society.  

What binds us together?  Well, it may seem simplistic, but we are bound together because we are in the same place week in and week out.  We recognize how each of us – although flawed – is attempting to honor God and do God’s will.  Here is something I love about St. Paul’s: this is not a place of sorting.  We are not perfect, or perfectly diverse (whatever that means), but we come here to be with the people God is bringing here – all of the people.  This is not without its challenges, but it is not without its blessings.  If every child of God is welcomed here – no matter what his or her foibles me be – than guess what… I am welcome here, just as I am.  I do not need to boast about why I belong.  I do not need to grovel for acceptance.  I just need to present myself as a child of God desiring to be in relationship with my brothers and sisters in Christ.  

Here, you can be yourself.  You are welcome to stand apart, should you feel the need to do so.  But you have to be willing to allow another person to stand up and speak a word you struggle to accept.  In the end, we are a laboratory for relationships and belonging.  This is not a place to be coddled.  It is a place to be challenged and refined all the while being loved with the deepest love God has for each of us.  We are brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers.  We belong to one another. 

The Single Most Important Task in the Second Half of Life

Does not take directions well.  Has trouble listening.  Won’t color within the lines.  These are the kinds of evaluations made about kindergarten students.  Early in our lives two realities clash.  The first is highlighted in today’s breathtaking reading from the 139^th Psalm.  Each of us, like a snowflake, is unique.  We have been lovingly crafted by a skillful Creator to be ourselves – a one of a kind masterpiece.  The other reality is we are a communal people.  We do not live in isolation, but rather in complex relationships with others.  As such, we need to conform to certain standards and expectations.  There comes a time in life when you will be free to color outside the lines, but early on the emphasis is on mastering the skills necessary to fit in and get along.

To shift the metaphor to one I have used before, in life, each of us is meant to be a jazz musician.  Jazz music is a free-form, creative expression built on the unique talents of the artist and his or her interaction with others in the group.  You can’t just pick up a saxophone for the first time and blow jazz.  First you must master the basics and learn the scales.  Only when the fundamentals are so deeply ingrained as a tacit skill is it possible to break free of them and create something of your own.  

It takes years and years to get to this point, and one of the great sadnesses of life is when a person learns the scales but never deviates from them; when a person learns how to color within the lines, but never branches out into authentic, personal expression.  These people are everywhere, littering our lives.  They tend to be rigid, domineering, and highly critical of others who question convention.

We meet some of them in today’s reading from the gospel of Mark.  If the Pharisees are anything, they are masters of the scales of practicing religion.  When the Lord God said, “You shall honor the Sabbath and keep it holy,” they became the guardians of what this looked like.  They have all the details down pat.  What was intended as a day of rest and celebration of delivery from bondage in Egypt became for them an exercise of coloring within the lines and playing the scales.  Do it like this.  Nothing else is permissible.

Sunday in and Sunday out we gather in this place and pretty much do the same thing every week.  Yes, the readings and the hymns change, but we are a “prayer book” church.  It is how we come together to experience the Sabbath.  But we are not slaves to the prayer book.  Several years ago we received word early on a Sunday morning a parishioner had been rushed to a hospital with a life-threatening medical emergency.  I knew I had to be there, so I turned to Al Reese and said, “You need to figure out how to wing it.”  Everyone understood the Sabbath priority of pastoral care eclipsed prayer book worship in that moment.  Do you remember the Sunday we observed the 15^th Anniversary of 9/11 outside with the Unity Project?  Honoring the Sabbath is not the same as being obliged to a mandated form of worship.  

Try to tell this to the Pharisees.  They exercise what is known as positional authority.  This is the authority of a boss or teacher or police officer.  We do what they tell us to do because their position entitles them to place demands on us.  Positional authority is grounded both in the power of the person who wields it and in the fear of those who are under it.  The Pharisees’ title and role makes them the wardens of all things religious.  

Jesus operates with personal authority.  Its expression is grounded in a person’s own vision and values.    It inspires loyalty and trust in others and they will allow such a person to speak to their lives because they know the person cares about them.  Personal authority is not concerned with prestige, status, or image, but rather in the genuine well-being of self and others.  

Sometimes, but not always, a person with positional authority also has personal authority.  This is a powerful and potent combination.  In today’s reading, no one has both.  Jesus has personal authority, but not positional.  The Pharisees have positional authority, but not personal.  

Most often most people will not challenge positional authority even when they know it to be wrong.  The FAA has discovered many errors by flight captains go unchallenged by crew members because they do not believe it is their place to question.  One airline went so far as to create a flight simulator with scenarios designed to overwhelm the captain.  25% of the time subordinates failed to take corrective actions in the face of a captain’s fatal mistake.     

This suggests the Pharisees are not used to having their positional authority challenged.  They are not used to someone like Jesus who knows how to color within the lines, but at times elects not to.  And it illuminates why they take the dramatic step of consulting with the Herodians – members of the occupying ruling government – in order to find a way to “destroy” Jesus.   They are concerned only about the demands of communal living and insist on conformity and standards.  Jesus has moved past this and is focused on the reality that every person is a masterpiece and our highest pursuit is to discover the unique way we can express how we have been created in God’s glorious image.

Dr. James Hollis, in his book What Matters Most: Living a More Considered Life, states “the single most important task of the second half of life is the recovery of personal authority, namely, the discovery of what is true for us, really true, and mobilizing the courage and resources to live our truth in the world.”  He notes Carl Jung – the founder of analytic psychology – held “all our troubles stem from one place—the separation from our instincts”.  All those adaptations we make to fit in and get by, while necessary, have the cumulative effect of estranging us from the quiet and centered voice within each one of us; the voice telling us who we are and what is right and what will keep us healthy and help us to flourish.

Hollis talks about the adaptive self and the true self, which is longing to be expressed in the world.  He says, 

The ultimate question we have to ask ourselves is, “what wants to enter the world through me?”  This is not a narcissistic question; it is a respectful, reverential invitation to reflect on the purpose of our journeys.  And then we must ask, “what within me stands in the way of embodying that talent, that enthusiasm, that curiosity, that relational gift which I can bring to my family, my friends, my world, and to myself?”  This is not an agenda for being famous, recognized by others, or even understood by others.  It is rather a question of what do I experience as truly meaningful in my life.

“In the end,” he says, “we need to feel that the life we lived was our life, not someone else’s, that it was chosen rather than simply our following the instructions on the box.”

Christian spirituality adds to this search one critical element.  In the search for our true self we are also in pursuit of the true Jesus.  How does the Word Incarnate inform who you really are?  Say you discover your most authentic self-expression is that of a ne’er-do-well.  Such a discovery is not one to be celebrated or pursued.  Each one of us has been created for something more grand and glorious than this.  We have been created to manifest a unique expression of the perfect humanity we find in Jesus of Nazareth, what St. Paul's describes as making the life of Jesus visible in our mortal flesh.

This morning we see Jesus acting out of his personal authority.  He addresses human need and alleviates human suffering.   These are expressions of his deep, authentic self.  The single most important task in the second half of life is the recovery of personal authority.  What is true for you and how do you mobilize the courage and resources to live your truth in the world?